


Looking good, feeling fine

by viictoriasong



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I would be lying if I said I didn't incorporate my own suit & tie kink into this, Sherlock Holmes is a model
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viictoriasong/pseuds/viictoriasong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper had always lusted after the perfectly dressed guys in men's magazines. When she meets Sherlock Holmes, it seems her dreams have come to life. Soon she realises that can be taken quite literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking good, feeling fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adi_mou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adi_mou/gifts).



> While I try to regain my wits to finish the latest chapter of 'Blood & Water' - have this! (It's unbeta'd so please excuse any faults.)

_“Excuse me sir? Could I perhaps steal a minute of your time? Good afternoon. My name is Michael Johnson,  I am creative director for fashion designer Spencer Hart, you might have heard of him? We are currently looking for a new face to star in his upcoming campaign and I think you look perfect for it. I can assure you that the job is real and it pays quite well. Please let me give you my card –contact me if you are interested or in need any more information.”_

 

* * *

 

Molly Hooper wouldn’t describe herself as a kinky bird – but she did know what she liked and how she liked it.

Men. Slim bodies in perfectly tailored suits. Neatly trimmed hair and beards. Somewhat stern expressions. Deep voices.

The mere thought of such a man was enough to make her pussy throb in want.

Over the past years, she had collected a large number of men’s magazines. She’d let her eyes and fingers wander over the men featured in advertisements and photoshoots, fantasising what she’d do if one of them ever found his way into her bed. Molly had a nice lists of things that she’d like to happen – very _hot_ things.

The first time Sherlock Holmes had crashed her lab, she had to grip her desk tightly not to fall over. Expensive, tailored suits? Check. Perfect mop of dark (and by the looks of it silky) curls? Yes. A voice that made her want to put her head to his chest and feel the bass vibrate? Hell yeah. And then his body: he wasn’t buff, but still muscular and very lean. Once she’d gotten home that night, she’d torn of her clothes and rubbed herself silly to the memories of him.

Molly didn’t like the expression ‘dream man’-  but Sherlock was definitely her type. Very much so.

And he seemed… vaguely familiar. Had she seen him before somewhere else? The more Molly spent looking at Sherlock while they worked, the more she felt she had. Not being able to quite put a finger on it, she decided it must simply be some sort of figment of her imagination. Put together from all the men she’d been dreaming about over the years.

They had known each other nearly six months when she realised that wasn’t exactly the case.

Molly had prepared a bath: she had just worked seven days in a row and was _exhausted_. Warm water would sooth her aching muscles. A pack of her favourite biscuits and the latest Esquire would help with that too. She had been contently nibbling and flipping through the magazine when she saw him.

Sherlock Holmes - dressed in a deep black three piece suit and crisp clean white shirt, his curls straightened out and combed back – in a Spencer Hart advertisement.

She had almost dropped the magazine in the water out of sheer shock. _Sherlock’s a male model?_ She checked again. Oh, it was him absolutely: the arrogant look into the camera didn’t leave much doubt. Oh. _Oh_. _Maybe that’s why I…?_ A feeling of excitement crashed into her mind as she got up, dried off and made her way to the bedroom closet to get her stack of magazines.

The next few minutes were spent ripping through them, and her feeling of having discovered something exciting only became clearer. Spencer Hart spring summer 2010: starring Sherlock Holmes. Fall/winter 2009? Also him. Resort 2008? Yes him _wearing a button down jeans shirt and burgundy corduroy trousers Christ almighty_.

It was almost too much for her too handle. The man she had been lusting over for all those months, someone she thought to be a consulting detective, was also a male model. No wonder he always wore such great clothes – _Must be getting them sponsored straight from the designer himself_ , she mused.

The next time Molly saw Sherlock, she couldn’t keep down a grin. She had been studying his advertisements quite intensely (yes, masturbating to them if you will), and felt ever as enamoured with him.

“What’s the matter with you Molly? Such a content look on your face.” Sherlock had mumbled while going through an autopsy report.

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she spoke: “Spencer Hart’s fall winter campaign.”

He slowly lifted his eyes to hers, a blush creeping up his face. _Oh._ Someone had discovered his dirty little secret. He knew the day would come that he’d be recognized: he just figured it wouldn’t be a person close to him. Okay okay – he had _hoped_ it wouldn’t be.

When Sherlock left rehab in 2007, Mycroft had financially aided him to help give his life a new start. After a year of working mostly on his books and solving crime freelance, the older Holmes had decided it was enough. He wasn’t  charity and it was time his little brother started taking care of himself again. Sherlock hadn’t cared at first: money did not interest him. But soon enough, he realised he too needed an income to stay afloat.

One afternoon, while window shopping at Dolce & Gabanna (his favourite for their immaculate suits), a man had come up to Sherlock and given him his business card. If he was interested in doing some modelling? He had snorted at the idea – goodness gracious, he wasn’t one of those pretty boys! Then, remembering his money worries, had decided the gave the guy a call. The man wasn’t a fraud, he had deduced as much, so why not give it a shot?

He had been initially casted for one campaign, but had gone on to do five more. As a matter of fact, he was shooting for the newest line next week.

The pay was good. Then there were the free clothes. And not to mention, Sherlock got quite a kick out of all the attention and compliments bestowed on him by the photography staff and designer himself. He wasn’t ashamed of the job: in fact, he enjoyed it.

By the looks of it, Molly liked it too. So _he_ was the reason for her elevated heartbeat, her sweating and love sick puppy grin?

Nice. He could work with that, to both of their pleasures.

“Do you usually pay much attention to advertisements for men’s clothing, Molly?” he drawled in an especially low voice.

 _Oh my god he is on to me_ , she panicked. Molly waved her hands around as sort of a vague, denying gesture. “Pfff, no no no, you know, I just-, er, I was at the dentist the other day and happened to come across it. ”

With a smug smile, Sherlock turned to inspect the corpse she had rolled out. She had certainly given more attention to the ads then just browsing them in a waiting room. “I’ll be photographed for Hart’s following collection next week. Care to join me as my, let’s say, personal assistant?”

Molly could hardly believe what he was saying – but she couldn’t let the chance of having her dreams come true slip away. “I’d really like that. Yes, definitely coming along.”

“I’ll pick you up next Wednesday at 7.”

From the corner of his eye, Sherlock watched her spin around and walk back to her office, trying to keep her content smile from showing by hiding it behind the autopsy report.

They would undoubtedly have fun together and he could hardly wait.

 

* * *

When the day of their appointment arrived, Molly was over the moon with excitement. She had no clue what to expect from the evening, but getting up close and personal with her wettest of dreams was something she looked forward too.

Sherlock picked her up right on time, and his taxi drove them to an old warehouse in the harbour district of London. Upon arrival, they were immediately escorted to the make-up department. Molly watched as a young woman carefully applied layers of crème and foundation to his face, followed by gently brushing through his hair. “The curls are allowed this time.” Sherlock mentioned. Her mouth watered: she wanted to touch his face and hair _too_.

Molly’s temperature would only rise further when he was dismissed and led to the wardrobe department. As Sherlock stood by, the stylist and photographer discussed what outfit would be first. They settled on a grey ensemble, mixed with a red, white dotted shirt. The stylist held the clothes out towards Molly. “Hold them for a moment will you?”

As she hesitantly took the outfit, the man busied himself with getting Sherlock out of his regular wear – and then, his usual socks and underwear. Had she contemplated it, Molly could have guessed models don’t wear their own underwear. But she was unprepared and didn’t have any time to look away. Sherlock’s ass was exposed only for a minute, but her eyes stuck to glue to it. Her heartbeat rose – his body was as perfect as she imagined.

Michelangelo would have been inspired on the spot.

When the suit was on, Sherlock motioned her to follow him back into the studio. She looked on fascinated as he spent the next twenty minutes working his stuff for the camera.

The way he moved and held his arms and face, the way his muscles showed under the shirt – Molly was certified in love. She had gotten enough pleasure out of just looking at male models, but seeing a man she so had come to desire so deeply bring her fantasies  to life was more than she could have ever asked for. Had her feet not felt like bricks, she would have run to the bathroom to get herself off.

Over the next few hours, the cycle of getting undressed, dressed again and then posing repeated itself a number of times. Sherlock did what was asked, but made sure to keep an eye on Molly. As he had expected, the evenings events were absolutely to her liking. Her pupils were dilated and her breath came in short huffs – _excellent_. The way she looked at him, as if he was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, aroused him too.

It was nearing twelve o’clock when the shoot wrapped up. They sat next to each other in silence on the drive back – but the atmosphere was sizzling. Molly couldn’t keep her hands still, rubbing circles on her thighs trying to get her vagina to calm down. Perhaps spending four hours living her wildest fantasies had not been _that_ good of an idea.

Sherlock gave her another look over. Still aroused, clearly. What a lovely sight. Slowly he slipped a hand between her legs and leaned in, brushing her cheek with his nose. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“Oh god _yes_.” Molly’s voice was hoarse with desire.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I could extend the show, if you’d like.”

 _Ye_ s _yes yes yesyesyesyessssssssss please Sherlock_.

She moved her hand over his, pressing his fingers harder to her core. “Just do me one favour.”

He lifted an eyebrow in attention, curious to what she would say. She turned her face and let her lips hover of his. “Say you’ll fuck me with your suit still on.”

“As you wish.”, Sherlock replied before kissing her deeply.

His clothes would probably be ruined once they were done – but to please Molly, he would sacrifice anything.


End file.
